


Connections

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Being Human (UK)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George falls in with the wrong crowd and Mitchell has to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connections

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to my best to write what was requested, but was constrained by time and personal issues. However, I would love to write a continuation to this story.
> 
> Written for Valderys

 

 

The ash on his cigarette was over an inch long and in danger of falling all over his pants. He was so exhausted he'd forgotten he'd been smoking at all. His chest itched from where blood had dried in crusty clumps and he's was starting to feel a little dizzy, though he wasn't sure if it was from the loss of blood or sunlight. He'd been in such hurry to get away, He'd piled George into the car with no real plan of where to take the unconscious werewolf on the eve of the full moon. He'd been driving around Bristol for hours, before he'd finally figure out where to go. 

He took a careful drag of his cigarette, trying not to tip the ash on himself, when George let out a yelp. 

Mitchell's eyes returned to the road. They were drifting into the other lane, which was thankfully empty. As he steered back into their lane, he gave himself a mental shake. He needed to stay focused. He gave up on the cigarette, casting it out the window and squinted through mid-day sunlight trying to figure out a good place to go. 

He spared a glance at George, who'd promptly past out. Mitchell's wool coat doing a poor job of covering his naked body. George look so very young and fragile. A far cry from what he'd looked like when Mitchell had found him, only a few hours earlier. 

It had only taken George missing a day of work for Mitchell to know something was wrong. That and George telling him a few days earlier about how he'd met some other's like him. He'd been so happy, that Mitchell couldn't bring himself to ruin his friend's happiness by sharing his own suspicious about these new friends. It had taken a day and a half to track down one George's new "friends" and he'd learned a lot about these wolves. Things that only made him worry more about George. 

"Where is he?" Mitchell let the calm settle over him as he held the werewolf against the wall. The boy just smirked. 

"WHERE?" Mitchell punctuated his demand by slamming the boy against the wall, hard. 

"They're not going to hurt him, just having a bit of fun, is all." The boy looked confused. Mitchell was tired of the game before it even began. He took hold of the boy's arm, snapping it with a sharp twist of his wrist. It would heal, but pain seemed to be the most efficient way to get what he wanted. 

The boy screamed, eyes wide with shock and pain. 

"Where is he?" He stared at the boy as he eyes bled to black. 

He had finally found them in a broken down shack of a house. A high pitched scream greeted him as he entered. He'd already fought his way through two males to get this far and wasn't about to stop when he encountered a petite blond in the sitting room. 

"Where is Frank and Carlo?" He tone gave the impression that she could careless about the answer. 

"Licking their wounds. Where is he?" Mitchell gave up all pretenses and closed the distance between them in seconds, placing a light hand at her throat. He felt her bought start at his touch, though her facial expression gave nothing away. 

"Why do you care? He's not one of your kind?" She looked up into his eyes and he matched her look. They stayed that way for several minutes before she finally lowered her gaze. 

"He's in the basement, the stairwell is on the far side of the kitchen, just through there." 

George hung naked, body strung tight as a harp string, his face a heart wrenching mixture of desire, horror and disgust. The girl, whom Mitchell presumed was the one he'd heard screaming when he'd first entered the house, lay sprawled on the floor. Her throat was open and oozing blood, a soft gurgling sound the only sign that she was just barely hanging on to life. Mitchell walked past her, intent on his friend, who's eyes snapped open at the sound of movement. His eyes glisten as they fixed on Mitchell, then his gaze immediately turned from hungry to pleading. 

"Help!" His voice was an ear piercing screech. Mitchell nodded but stopped when George shook his head violently. 

"NO! Her..." He made a chocking gasp as he tilt his head to indicate the dying woman on the floor, his eyes closed as his tongue darted over his lips. "Help her, please." 

"It's no use-" 

"PLEASE!" George cut Mitchell's protest short, his shriek boarded on hysterical, as his muscle strained at the chains and the metal whined in protest. With a nod, Mitchell turned and scooped up the girls limp form. As he walked out of the door, he could hear George's stuttered sigh of relief. 

He pulled the car off the road as far as he dared, but far enough under cover to hide it. After several failed attempts to wake up George, he finally decided to just drag him as far he could away from the main road. 

After what seemed like an eternity of dragging George through the brush, his cell phone began to chime. 

"Perfect." It came out like a curse as he dug through the pockets of his coat, pulled the phone free. After he saw who was calling, he almost didn't answer, but then thought better of it. 

"Yes?" He answered curtly. 

"Quiet a mess you left for me." Richard was just as much of a smart ass over the phone as he was in person. 

"Is there an issue?" Mitchell did his best sound nonchalant. 

"The day that I can't handle one dead meat puppet and a couple of stay dogs..." Richard would ramble on for hours if given the chance. 

Mitchell didn't give it to him. "Get to the point." 

"I don't clean up after dogs." He could hear Richard leering through the phone. 

"I told you, it was mine." He waited to see if Richard would try to challenge him. After a few moments of silence, Richard gave an exaggerated sighed. 

"Whatever you say." The line went dead. Mitchell didn't care if Richard believed him or not. 

The truth was, that it was his mess and he was going to fix it, if it killed him. 

George woke up to the dull ache slowly spreading through the side of his face. He was lying on the cold hard ground of the forest floor, a few feet away lay Mitchell, sprawled out and unconscious. George crawled over to his friend. 

"Mitchell?" George shook Mitchell by he shoulder, causing the vampire's shirt to slip open. Four parallel lines of blood and torn flesh sliced across the pale skin of Mitchell's chest. 

"It's okay, it's going to be okay." Mitchell's mumbled. In the gathering twilight, George wondered how much blood Mitchell had lost. He tried to remember how long it had been since they'd left that house. How long had Mitchell been slowly bleeding to death and all because of him. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been and that his friend, his only real friend was bleeding, maybe dying, because of it. 

"Mitchell wake up!" He lifted Mitchell up to lean against his body. George shuttered, though he wasn't sure if it was from the feel of Mitchell's cold skin pressed against his own naked chest or that vampire seemed to weigh nothing. 

"Drink." He whispered as he gentle pressed the other man's head against his neck. "Come on, dammit! DRINK!" 

All he could feel was cold. Cold and darkness all around him, he was so tired. Too tired to fight it. Then warmth pressed against him, surrounding him. Reminding him of his...hunger. It coiled in his stomach, tightening in on it's self until it whipped out to strike. 

"Mitchell, please..." George's cut short as felt Mitchell move. He moved so fast that George hadn't realized what had happened until he felt the soft pressure of Mitchell's lips and tongue against the skin of his throat. Then it hit him. 

He was drinking lightening. It danced along his skin, burning through his body like nothing he'd ever felt before and he didn't want to stop. Until, he heard George's moan of pleasure. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back as fast as he dared. George collapsed backward into a wet pile of leaves. 

"George!" Mitchell immediately leaned down to check that George was alright. The werewolf opened his eyes, a slightly stunned look on his face. 

"Wow." George blinked and Mitchell stifled a chuckle. 

"I take that to mean that you're alright." Mitchell said with a smirk. 

"Um, I mean, yes. Sorry, it's just...is it always like that?" He leaned up on his elbows as he looked at Mitchell. 

"Not usually, no." He avoided George's eyes he looked up at the quickly darkening sky. "It's almost full dark." 

"I know, I can feel it." George's voice filled with regret. 

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Mitchell gave him a sideways glance. 

"No. That's alright. I don't want...I'll be fine." George's voice was a soft whisper. Mitchell though of the girl and what else George must have suffered through in that basement. 

"Just the same, I think I'll stay." Mitchell lay down on the ground next to George. The werewolf looked at him for a moment and then settled onto the ground next the vampire. They lay in silence watching the sky grow dark. 

 


End file.
